Ode of the Moving (A Pioneer's Poem)

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

In Winters' house the chaos growsamidst the boxes in tumultuous rowsThat fill our space; and in the hallthe kids are banging on the wallScarce noticed by the cats below.We are the moving; scarce weeks agoWe had power, and heat, and water's flow.But now we shiver on rainy nightsIn Winters' House.

Take comfort in these things, you know:That though we're running to and froLike chickens unaware they've died,If you listen close as it rains outside,You might hear from us still, though chaos growsIn Winters' House.

(It's safest, if one is going to plagiarize, to choose an author that has been dead for nearly a century.)

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